Health Matters, Lives Entrusted

Gret's body instantly stiffened.

He had witnessed countless medical disputes before, from people arguing unreasonably for four hours straight to those bringing funeral wreaths and burning joss paper in the emergency hall; from people swinging IV stands to hit others, to those who directly drew knives and attacked—oh, the last one, he had only seen the aftermath after the security guards had dealt with it.

But never before had he felt so close to death.

Blasphemy! The Inquisition! The stake!

On his very first day after transmigrating, after narrowly escaping one crisis, was he going to be burned alive?

Gret broke out in a cold sweat, wishing he could turn tail and flee on the spot. However, looking at the cold glint of the Roman Knight's sword tip and Captain Karen's pale face, a surge of anger erupted, making him forget all fear:

If you have a problem, come at me! What's the meaning of drawing your sword on my patient?!

Gret stood up abruptly. His heart pounded fiercely in his chest, the rush of blood roaring in his ears. Before he could speak, Priest Donald, standing beside him, frowned and snapped, "Roman! Put your sword away!"

As their own priest had spoken, the Roman Knight couldn't just ignore him. He let out a cold snort and slowly sheathed his sword, still looking unwilling to let it go. Across from Gret, Young Priest John also stood up, leaning forward with his hands on the table, his tone indignant:

"Gret knows Healing Spell! I swear by the God of War, I saw it with my own eyes today! You say you don't know him, how would you nobles from the city know a servant of the Nature God!"

Gret: "..."

No way, is the Nature God's church that poor?

Several memories surfaced in his mind.

Gret shivered, finally remembering why he felt the Nature God didn't have a temple—

Indeed, it didn't. This church didn't have temples like the God of War or the Spring Goddess. They would often find a small hill, build a stone circle on top, and worship the deity within. If there wasn't even a stone circle, they would simply find an oak tree and everyone would pray beneath it...

The priests of the Spring Goddess wore silk robes and came and went in carriages;

The Temple of the God of War was behind the City Guard barracks. The high-ranking priests inside had bright armor, carrying shields in one hand and warhammers in the other, running with the soldiers, looking more like warriors than the warriors themselves;

And the servants of the Nature God, in their daily lives, wore drab, coarse linen robes, carrying an oak staff with fresh sprouts, going from street to street. From the slums to the fields, and from the fields to the forests. In a word, poor.

Even the elders weren't much better. Gret remembered someone gossiping to him that when the City Lord's mansion convened a meeting of high-ranking spellcasters, the elder from the Nature God's sect attended wearing a linen robe, carrying an oak staff, and walking on his own two legs...

No wonder his teammates weren't surprised at all when he claimed to have received a Divine Revelation from the Nature God, but instead seemed somewhat disappointed.

What parents wouldn't be disappointed knowing their child joined a desperately poor new unit, where even promotions wouldn't bring much of a salary increase? Just like in his past life, when his mother knew he had applied for the emergency department, she was both heartbroken and reluctant to object...

Gret fell into his memories. His heart felt a little sour and soft, until a furious roar jolted him awake:

"You saw him cast Healing Spell, and you saw the Nature God give him a Divine Revelation?--You say so, and it's true? Aren't you afraid of blasphemy?"

Gret jumped at his roar. The Roman Knight was half a head taller than him, with a rugged face and short, dark brown hair standing on end. His angry roar was particularly intimidating. Gret instinctively flinched back. Before he could retort, little John, on the opposite side, stepped up:

"Then if you say it's not, it's not?!"

The young priest stood tall, facing him.

Although one was a powerful Knight and the other merely a Priest apprentice, the Knights of the Spring Goddess's temple had no authority over the Priests of the God of War.

There was no need to offend people without reason. When it came to defending a companion, little John would argue righteously:

"Gret has displayed so many unheard-of skills, and you still can't confirm it's a divine inspiration? Can you be sure the great Nature God didn't give him inspiration? Or, do you doubt the Nature God's Divine Grace?!"

A chorus of muffled laughter immediately erupted.

The half-grown lads on the farm giggled, the older farmers turned their faces away to chuckle, and Gret's teammates, every one of them, grinned openly.

Unlike the Temple of the God of War, which had always protected them, and unlike the Nature God's sect, whose members were plainly dressed and often helped families treat their cattle, check on their dogs, and teach them how to farm. The Spring Goddess's temple was full of "city nobles" who put on airs but didn't do much work, so people didn't have much good impression of them.

The Roman Knight's face darkened. Even Priest Donald looked a bit embarrassed: it was one thing for a Knight and a Priest apprentice from different temples to bicker and argue, but when it escalated to accusations of blasphemy, it couldn't be taken lightly.

Priest Donald cleared his throat softly, stood up with composure, his demeanor noble and elegant, and swept his gaze across the hall with a smile. The laughter in the hall gradually quieted down. Priest Donald turned to Gret, leaning forward slightly:

"Mr. Nordmark, to be honest, I am also very interested in your Healing Spell. Your companion is injured as well—"

He simply left his seat, pulled Gret along, and walked all the way to Captain Karen:

"I believe you must be very eager to heal him. I wonder, could you cast a Healing Spell for us to observe?"

"This..."

Gret hesitated. The young priest opposite him cried out again:

"He already used it today! -- It's so late, how could he possibly cast it again?"

"It's fine if you can't cast it tonight," Priest Donald said with a smile, completely unfazed. "Casting it tomorrow is the same. At that time, you must let me see..."

The two of them were subtly bickering. Gret ignored them, his eyes vacant, trying hard to think:

Healing Spell... Healing Spell...

How did I cast it?

Right, I was thinking at the time, if only Uncle Karen's injury could heal faster...

Nothing happened.

Think again.

Still nothing.

Gret adjusted his breathing, concentrating. He recalled the original host's interactions with Uncle Karen, fully mobilizing his emotions, and then, he silently recited word by word in his heart:

"If possible, I hope Uncle Karen's injuries will heal quickly."

Still no movement... I'm really not good at these metaphysical things T_T

Gret reflected deeply on himself and decided to return to rationality. "Don't rush," he told himself, "let's analyze the prerequisites for casting a Healing Spell."

Target, method, motivation?

1. Target: A strong desire. This condition is probably met, but since it didn't activate, it means it's a necessary condition, but not a sufficient one.

2. Method: Understanding the spell model. When he first cast the Healing Spell, there was no spell model in his mind, so this is probably not a necessary condition, at least not for the lowest-tier Healing Spell...?

3. Motivation: If the power source for a car is gasoline and the power source for magic is mana, then the power source for Divine Arts is... faith, perhaps?

What is my faith?

"The almighty Nature God..."

He prayed silently. No movement.

The Nature God really isn't paying attention to me. Divine Revelation, and all that, was just me bragging.

"By the God of Medicine Apollo, Asclepius, and all the gods of heaven and earth, I solemnly swear..."

No movement.

In the dimly lit hall, only the torches on the wall crackled and burned, as if in mockery.

Gret's forehead was slightly sweaty. Why is there no movement? Why can't I cast the Healing Spell? Could it be true, as those Westerners say, that Chinese people have no faith...

Impossible!

Chinese people have faith! I--I have faith!

Calm down!

Think again!

What exactly is my faith!

Is it my homeland? My homeland is in a distant dimension, I can never go back, it can no longer be the driving force for my struggles;

Is it Marxism-Leninism? Back then, he didn't join the party, his faith wasn't that pure;

Is it ancestors, is it history? Gret didn't feel that ancestors and history were the driving force for his continuous progress...

Then, what is it?

If I have faith, if I truly have faith--

Then, it must be to heal the sick and save people!

Rescuing one life after another, treating patient after patient;

Countless day shifts, countless night shifts, often exhausted to the point of death, hearing the sound of the 120 ambulance, he would rally his spirits and rush forward;

Sometimes healing, often helping, always comforting...

That is the love and sincerity condensed from seven years of integrated bachelor's and master's studies since entering the medical field, and more than ten years of clinical work!

Unconsciously, Gret raised his right fist and placed it by his ear. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, as if a vibrant red flag was fiercely fluttering in the void before him:

"The health is entrusted, the lives are depended upon..."

The familiar oath rolled off his tongue, word by word. Each syllable was heavy, as weighty as a thousand pounds.

A pure, abundant white light descended silently.

At that moment, Gret's eyes welled up with tears.